


Alive

by RoseHeart



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, J/B Shuffled Challenge, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:04:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseHeart/pseuds/RoseHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a modern AU story about Jaime in the hospital after loosing his hand, where he remembers events from his past and tries to find a reason for his future.</p><p>This was written for the J/B Shuffled Challenge.  The inspiration song was Alive by Pearl Jam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alive

**Author's Note:**

> I love this song all the more now that I have Jaime and Brienne in mind while listening to it! I felt like this was so much about Jaime and his life leading up to loosing his hand and how being alive has changed for him throughout the years. I hope you all like it and I did the song justice (there is a lot of pressure since so many amazing authors are involved in this)!!! The lyrics are posted in the end notes.
> 
> A special thanks goes out to Coraleeveritas for helping through my first one shot and modern AU and for finally telling me to just post it! You are the best!!!!
> 
> LOVE!

Jaime was having trouble focusing on the reality that loomed behind his closed eyelids while his body screamed from the visceral numbness of shock and medication.  The collected part of him that was leaning languidly against a corner of his mind was telling him to simply let himself slip into blackness and silence for a while.  He would not want to open his eyes and see the violence that was now his body.  He would not want to feel the pain that was being held at bay but still close enough to feel the pressure and the loss.  He would not want to know and remember and wake to unknown faces, judging and relishing the fall of the aged and beautiful lion.

But his instincts kept him awake, clawing to make sense of the sounds and feelings that pervaded the haze of his thoughts.  The darkness behind his eyes would burst every few seconds and the rock of his gurney caused him to realize he was being moved down a hallway, his face bathed in the rows of fluorescent lights that lined the ceiling.  Jaime’s skin felt slick with blood and sweat while it seemed hard where he was covered with a rough blanket and scratchy straps that held him down and hooked him to monitors.  There were hands that roved across his body occasionally, but there were no assuring caresses of familiar touches.  Bored and mechanical fingers checked his vitals and his injuries while their owners created an annoying buzz with their calm and practiced voices as they discussed him, as if he was not lying there.  One particular voice was close, probably hovering at his shoulder.  It sounded like it belonged to a young woman, who was clearly handing out sharp commands while others talked over each other to provide her with more information about the patient.  _Jaime Lannister_. 

It was becoming too difficult to focus and Jaime felt all of the sensations wash over him, pulling him down into the depths.  He fought to stay above the tide of unconsciousness, trying to find a line to grasp onto reality.  His thoughts were starting to slip through time, however, and Jaime found himself flitting from the realization that he was being wheeled through a hospital to the memories that he had tried to bury deep within his heart.  He moaned slightly, turning his face away from the harsh lights bleeding through his eyelids. 

Suddenly, there was a large hand that encased his shoulder in warmth that reminded Jaime of the evenings spent by the fireplace perched in his mother’s lap while she read to him.  The hand slid down his arm, strong and sure, but gentle in a way that the other hands on him had not been.  He wondered, as fingertips trailed comfortingly down to his wrist to grasp his hand, if his mother had come finally to take him away.

 

_Jaime remembered the constant curse he had felt as a young boy trying to understand his feelings.  He knew not to ask his mother, warm and understanding as she had been to her first son. and he had never dared to express any weakness or desires to his cold father.  What he felt he knew was wrong, but still, whenever his sister would enter a room, he could not stop himself from letting his eyes follow her.  She must have known how raptly he watched her because she would sway and tease him, rewarding his attention with quick glances and intentionally shy smiles.  Whenever one of his parents would deign to regard the children, Jaime would look away quickly, glowering at his own lack of self-control, and Cersei would simply laugh._

_His secret world of longing and fear had changed the day that his mother had come home, beautiful face lined with sadness and eyes glassy with tears.  They were alone for once in the large manse and Jaime, though he was too old to crawl into her lap, took his mother’s hand and let her lean into him on the couch as she wept silently._

_"Son,” Joanna Lannister whispered.  She brushed away her tears with the back of her delicate hand before folding them primly in her lap.  The broken woman that had crumbled into Jaime a moment ago was no longer and he sat beside Tywin’s wife once more.  “I have something to tell you and you must be strong when you hear it, just as I know you will be.”_

_Jaime did not understand what that could mean, but he nodded anyway.  Suddenly, the emptiness of the house felt ominous and he steeled himself for how his life could turn even more._

_“The man you have thought to be your father…Jaime, Tywin is not your biological father,” his mother said.  She searched his face for a reaction, but Jaime remembered to be strong.  She would not see how his heart soared with relief and understanding and collapsed with betrayal.  “He-he thought it would be best if you did not know, so that we could all simply be a family.  We are a family, but it may have been hard on you and Cersei to understand if you had known.” Joanna shook her head and reached out to curl her fingers around his hand.  She must have felt how cold and sweaty they were, but she continued anyway, “Your biological father was a good man, but I loved your father and he promised us a better life.  He had a child of his own…”_

_A child of his own.  Jaime jerked his hand out of his mother’s grasp at that and snatched her thin shoulders, staring intently, trying to sift through the lie.  “Cersei is not my…”_

_“No, honey,” Joanna must have read something in his gaze because she stroked one shaking arm that was still holding her firmly.  “Cersei is the daughter of Tywin and another woman, who died soon after giving birth.  And you are my son with another man.  One day, you may wish to know who he is, but it does not really matter now.” She sighed, the bottom of her lip trembling as she fought back tears once more.  “He died today.”_

 

The cessation of motion ripped Jaime from the confines of the wretched memory.  He tried to open his eyes, but his vision was blurred with tears unshed and there was a haze of blood across his face.  He was still blinded by the harsh stab of lights above him, now accompanied by a single lamp off to his side that someone was positioning over his body.  The voices continued to drone away in the background, but Jaime could make out the soft tinkle of metal falling against metal, as if a wind chime were floating in the breeze.  Some of the words that were being spoken began to pervade the fog and the thought of “amputation” and “coma” forced him to try to talk or at least lift himself.

The gentle hand he thought had belonged to his mother returned and, with a strength that frightened him, pushed him back down onto the bed.  He would not go back to sleep and let them ruin the lion.  They would probably enjoy destroying the body he had worked so hard to maintain, even when he had felt his age begin to affect him.  They would parade him around and take everything he had rebuilt these past years if he let himself slip away again.

Through his struggling, he felt a damp breath next to his ear.  The hand still held him down and he tried to move away.  Vaguely, he was aware that the pain that had been held at bay was worming its way into his head.  It kept him from moving too much and let the breath follow his ear, brushing strands of golden hair.

“Jaime…” It was a sweet whisper, one that he could not tell if it came from his memories or from reality.  She must have come.  They had called her and despite the years that he had tried to slip from her grasp, she had come when he needed her and she would stop them from maiming him.  The time apart had been nothing, not when there had been so much time together, and he remembered the _first_ time.  His desire to be wrapped once again in Cersei caused him to fall back into darkness.

 

_After Jaime had found out about the truth of his relationship with Cersei, Tywin had told her as well.  She had feigned indifference, but the look in her young eyes as she watched him peaking from the other room caused his entire body to ignite with warmth.  He knew that she would come to him that night, but just as he had not known at first why his mother had asked him to be strong, he could not understand why Cersei’s gaze felt like he was willingly walking into a cage._

_They spent so many nights together after that, locked in each other’s arms and whispering their secrets, that during the day Jaime felt as if the light was the dream that he would wake from.  Their chaste evenings of bearing their souls turned into bearing other things as Cersei became bold and curious.  Jaime would forever remember when she had finally whispered, “Jaime, I’m ready.” And he was lost in the feel of her smooth skin and the pools of emerald green eyes, much darker and wilder than his own._

_For years he had happily drowned in her.  She had been his anchor when his mother had died giving birth to Tyrion.  At first, he had clung to his little brother, promising to protect him, offering to be the warm father that Tywin was not and telling him that Cersei could be his mother.  But she had not wanted anything to do with the deformed creature in Jaime’s arms and neither had her father.  When Tywin had decided to send Cersei off to boarding school, she had glanced at Jaime, with a young Tyrion clinging to his legs.  He forced himself to memorize the look of disdain twisting her beautiful face as she said again, “I’m ready.”_

_She had not been entirely ready to let Jaime free, though.  Cersei would convince him to sneak onto the campus on weekends and when it was time for both of them to attend college, he followed her doggedly wherever she decided to go, only feeling the slight tinge of guilt for leaving Tyrion behind with Tywin, who promptly sent his brother to boarding school as well._

_Jaime had always thought that Cersei’s biggest mistake was underestimating Tyrion.  He had thrived away from her father and appeared to be the best of them to take over the Lannister business, which made Cersei hate him all the more.  For all of his years of still loving Jaime, Tyrion had never held it against his brother for the way their sister treated him, but he had loathed the way Jaime treated himself._

_“Open your eyes, brother,” Tyrion had told him one day, his small hand swirling a tumbler of scotch.  “She is using you.  She is using others in the same, ahem, manner so don’t consider yourself the sole proprietor to what lies between her legs.  It’s time you woke up and joined the rest of us, if you’re finally ready.”_

_It took Jaime weeks of sitting alone in his apartment, ignoring the calls from his siblings, letting his mind run through the years and shutting that part of him that died, cursed, loved.  When he could feel no more, but the desire to still live burned beneath the hole in his heart, he had called his brother.  “I’m ready.”_

 

“Jaime…” the voice called to him again.  He felt relief wash away the physical pain as he surfaced from the chains of his past.  Now that he could focus on the voice, he realized that it could not have belonged to Cersei.  It sounded sincere, not dripping with intention and seduction.  There was worry and firmness in the soft timbre that caressed his ear and pulled him further into reality.  He knew that voice, but he had never heard her utter his name as surely as she did when she thought he could not hear.  “Jaime, do not let go.  I know you’re giving up, but you have to live.  You have to live and fight and take revenge.”

 _Brienne_.

He managed to crack an eye open, his entire body crying to sleep once more, just a little while longer.  For a moment, Jaime thought that he was underwater since his vision was covered in sparkling azure seas, but then Brienne pulled back her face, realizing she had been too close to him.  He could make out her large freckled nose and if he looked down, he could follow the smattering of spots across her wide lips, one of which was being sucked on by her horsey teeth.  Jaime wanted to moan some self pitying remark about dying _and_ being under the care of the ugliest doctor at King’s Landing Medical, but he was scrabbling for purchase on consciousness and he could not look away from her sapphire eyes, brimming with compassion.  Jaime found he did not mind much that she would be the last person he ever saw.

 

His benevolence for the woman only lasted until he woke up once more and he realized that he was, unfortunately, not dead.  Instead, he found himself in a large hospital bed, the only one in an expansive room that was filled with monitoring equipment, a high definition television, a couch and chairs, and a view overlooking Blackwater Bay.  Jaime could not make out the sounds outside his door that would have been indicative of the hustle of one of the largest hospitals in the south, so he figured he had been granted one of the private wings that was used for celebrities, politicians, and the wealthy.  Jaime no longer considered, nor desired, to be labeled as any of those people so, his ire only increased by having his grotesquerie hidden from the rest of the public.

The blood pumping through his body from the rage forced him to remember every injury that had plagued him from that fateful night.  He groaned, no longer viewing his pain through a fog of medication, but swallowed up by it.  There was a warm, gentle hand that ran delicately over the inside of his right elbow, drawing him to the sight of his arm ending in a stump wrapped in bandages, and up to the view of Dr. Brienne Tarth, wearing her usual crisp white coat and dull blue scrubs, nestling a clipboard on her hip and watching the monitors.

“You took my hand,” Jaime rasped, finding his liquid voice to be sandpaper from screaming and lack of use.

Brienne turned to him and he was once again struck by the intense color of her eyes.  She guarded her body’s reactions and the twists of her face that would betray her emotions, but, as Jaime had learned over the past year, he could always read her eyes.  They met his own bleary ones for a moment before she looked away to frown at her files, trying to sneak her fingers from his skin.  He could feel her lingering touch, stronger than the currents of pain that threatened to pull him under again.

“The Bloody Mummers took your hand,” she murmured.  “I just made sure they did not take your life.” The confident, demanding tone she had taken when whispering for him to live had been replaced by the shy one she normally adopted with him, when she was not yelling at him of course.

The meekness caused Jaime’s anger to rise again and he picked up one of the remotes that lay next to the bed and threw it against the wall, making Brienne jump as it violently broke apart with a loud clatter.  He turned to her, daring her to leave him to his pitiful, broken self, but instead, she set down her clipboard quietly and crossed her arms.  “Listen, Jaime, I know-“

“Know?” Jaime roared.  “You are a child playing God, you know nothing!”

“It could have been so much worse.  You-you should have seen your car, Jaime, and your injuries were…I do not know how you are still _alive_!” She was imploring him to see the gift that he had been given, but without his right hand he was nothing.  She had pulled him from the grasp of the Stranger only to land him in one of the seven hells anyway.

“Who is it that decides if I should be allowed to live?” Jaime hollered back, getting louder as she became softer.  “What have I ever done to deserve this chance? That is not for _you_ to determine and _I_ decide that I do not want it!”

Brienne leaned over his bed, fists digging in to the soft mattress, forcing his prone body to roll slightly towards her.  She pulled her face close enough to his that they were sharing the same air and Jaime was able to watch her bottom lip tremble slightly.  He looked up into her eyes, searing with blue fire as she hissed through her buckteeth, “It is my _job_ and you are my _patient_.  You will live, whether you wish it or not.” She straightened, pulling him out of the trance of her gaze, but before he could spit his own venom at her, saying something that would slither between the chinks of her armor and turn her to a weeping girl, she continued, “I have called you many things, Jaime Lannister, but I never thought to call you a coward.”

Brienne snatched up her clipboard and stomped the vast expanse of the room to the door.  Jaime watched her, cursing her in his head and vowing to defy her every order.  When she reached for the handle of the exit and wrenched it open, he thought for a moment that she was going to yank the door from the hinges in her fury.  She whirled back around, coat flaring around her toned thighs.  “Even if you were _not_ my patient, Jaime, I would be doing the exact same thing.” With that, she swept out of the room, almost taking the waste basket she knocked into with her, and slammed the door shut behind her.

 

The days that passed after he had first awoken from surgery were a blur of pain and sadness, nurses and charts, beeping monitors, and blue eyes.  When Jaime refused to leave the bed or eat and drink, Brienne ordered an IV to keep him hydrated and receiving nutrients.  She threatened a feeding tube as well, but Jaime had simply laughed mirthlessly at her.  But when one of her interns, Podrick, came into his room, blushing furiously and holding a catheter, Jaime had finally gotten up while sending the poor boy scurrying out the door, Jaime’s curses for Brienne echoing down the quiet hallway with him.  He ate the meals that were brought to him after that and would stretch his legs, strolling around his room until he was too dizzy and pained to stand much longer.

Brienne had begun to offer him hints of smiles when she would see his empty dinner trays being wheeled away.  The cold blue eyes that had regarded him for days, with not even a trace of acknowledgement, now melted into calming crystal seas.  Her touches were once again gentle and she would whisper encouragements or appraisal of his recovery when she sensed his mood was less sour than usual.

The sight of the lumbering woman, always in blue scrubs that brought out her eyes and still hiding behind a clipboard, surged fresher memories into the staleness of Jaime’s mind.  His injury had towed him back down to the depths of his past, but Brienne had never been a part of that dark time of his life.  She had appeared just as he was surfacing, ready to face life again, and he had never realized that she had provided the meager handhold to allow him to become something new.

The lure of the wealth behind taking over Lannister Incorporated, and the promise of Cersei on his arm if he did, had been compelling in his youth, but Jaime had not forgotten her deception and he had never felt the need to spend more time with her father than was necessary.  So, Jaime had suggested that he make his own name, which caused him to loose Cersei, though Tywin still demanded he accept his fate as heir.  Jaime began a publishing company, Lion Press, with Tyrion that had become successful over the years.  Cersei had gotten married and Tywin refused to hand his business over to her Baratheon husband so, when the Lannister patriarch died suddenly, his company was dissolved and the profits were split between the siblings, leaving his partners and allies without a nickel to their names.  Jaime had wanted to dump his portion, considering it dirty money, but Tyrion convinced him to put it to use.  Some of it had gone into his own business and more of it had gone to King’s Landing Medical to help pay for a new children’s ward.  Jaime had never felt much like a philanthropist and he knew he had not given away the money to be charitable or honorable.  He did the one thing that he knew would make Tywin Lannister roll in his grave.

His ties to the hospital meant that he had come into contact with Dr. Brienne Tarth, who volunteered her free time with the children and whose freckles bloomed from her red cheeks whenever Jaime would make a rude or inappropriate comment to her.  He figured she tolerated him because he appeared a mystery, having offered so much money to help those in need, but never once acting as if he had a caring bone in his body, or a heart for that matter.  Still, Brienne was kind and could be funny as well as amusing when he was able to soften his barbs enough for her to retaliate.  Jaime found himself visiting the hospital to seek her out, to tell her about something that happened at work, to make sure she was not overextending herself by picking up extra shifts or sleeping for days on end at the hospital.  In the weeks before one of Tywin’s spurned partners decided to take revenge on his supposed heir, Jaime had thought that he and Brienne were becoming friends. 

Now, however, he was a broken man and he could not imagine that she would look at him as she had the proud, golden lion.  He realized he wanted her to, though.  He desired her blushes and the slide of her gaze as she tried to hide taking in his body.  He wanted her warmth and the secrets she had let slip to him when she was tired from working and let him past her guarded walls.  He needed to be the lifeline for her that she had been for him, but he could not do that sitting in a hospital bed, with only one hand to help pull her from her own darkness.

Yet, Brienne came nearly every day to see him.  Sometimes, it was in the form of Dr. Tarth, checking on her stubborn, infuriating, famous patient, but she would linger afterwards, slipping into being his Brienne.  Other times, she would sneak in between her rounds, usually bringing him a treat from the cafeteria and he would jokingly ask her if she was trying to prove the old saying that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, earning him a blush.  He knew the times that she visited when she was on duty, appearing exhausted but still laughing easily at his lopsided smiles, and the times that she would come on her days off, vulnerable in exposing her wish to be near him.  She would pull up a chair next to his bed or they would sit on the couch, looking over the bay, and talk.  They had both locked a part of themselves away.  For Jaime, it had been the loss of Cersei and for Brienne, it had been the failures she had felt after loosing a patient.  In his hospital room, in a world that they had created for themselves and would hide in from reality, Jaime and Brienne learned about each other and forgave and accepted all the things that had made them who they were up until the point that they had entered that room.

As the weeks wore on and Brienne’s presence brightened his mood, Jaime knew that he was improving enough to be released soon.  Tyrion visited him often, especially once Brienne allowed him to immerse himself in work when he was not distracted by her gaze on him.  Still, it did not seem enough to convince her that he would not do something stupid once he was out of her sight.  Jaime was not sure how to express to her that sapphire eyes had become what he wanted to live for. 

It was inevitable, then, that since Jaime spent most of his waking moments with his doctor, he would eventually seek her out in his dreams as well.  She was sitting on a beach, one that stretched for miles of warm, white sands and tall grasses swaying in the breeze that floated her straw hair around her face.  The moon cast a halo around her, making her pale skin look translucent as she held her hand out to him.  Her bright eyes were dark, denying Jaime his need to drown in the blue depths, but he was reassured by the impeaching smile she gave to him.  He reached to take her hand, only realizing once his arm was extended that he had raised his stump.  Brienne grasped it anyway, pulling him down to her and letting him fold her in his arms.

A soft thump forced Jaime awake and he blinked rapidly in the dim light of his hospital room.  It took him a moment to find Brienne hovering at the foot of his bed with a look in her eyes that caused him to wonder if he was still dreaming.  But he took in her scrubs, the slight splattering of blood staining the fabric around her hip, and the hand that had reached out to him in his dreams, no longer sure and beckoning, but shaking violently at her side.

“Brienne…” Jaime sat up in the bed and made to get out, but she was immediately moving to his side, his right side.  Her blue eyes were glazed with the threat of tears and her mouth worked as if she was trying to speak.  Jaime glanced at the blood once more.  It seemed to be too little to have caused the trauma he saw her reeling with now, but when he looked up again he knew.  She had lost someone.  Without considering that they had never really touched, Jaime reached his right arm around her waist and grabbed her shoulder with his left hand to pull her down to the bed.  She crawled on top of the sheets, burying her trembling hands between his arms and chest, wrapping her legs around his own, and roving her nose all across his neck and collarbone.  She could not seem to settle, rubbing every part of him that she could while tucked away in his embrace.  Jaime could only shush her, whispering words of assurance as his hand and stump ran up and down her back.

“By the time they got her to me, there was nothing I could do,” she whispered with her lips pressed against the pulse at his throat.  “I knew that.  It has happened before.” Brienne had told Jaime of the times when one of her patients had died.  She did not speak of it much except that she had learned to steal a piece of herself away to mourn when she could and to keep it hidden.  Regrets of the past would only pause her hands in the future, which she could not afford, and she had long ago accepted that she could not save them all, but that she would always try.

Jaime held her tighter, understanding that he was the only person she had ever come to for comfort afterwards.  She had spent years coping without him, but now that he was here, Jaime realized she had sought him out because she wanted to be with him in that moment.

“But-but she was the first since you came in on that stretcher,” Brienne continued.  “You were covered in blood, your hand was partially severed, and you were so _pale_.  I thought that I may not be able to save you.” She took a deep breath, the warmth of her exhale washing over his chest.  “You could have been her, the one I lost.  You wanted it to be you.” She clutched him so hard, Jaime could hardly suck in air.  “You wanted it to be you…”

“Yes,” Jaime admitted.  He reached to tilt her chin up so that he could look at her eyes and she could see the truth behind his own.  There was hurt in her gaze at his admission, but she still did not let her tears fall.  “I wanted it to be me, Brienne, but not anymore.”

A part of Jaime knew that this was not the right time to kiss the grieving woman, but a portion of her distress was the lingering fear of his own death.  He needed to make her see how much he did not want to give in any longer and he needed her to finish saving him.  So, he leaned down to still the quivering of her bottom lip by placing it between his own.  He pressed his mouth to hers, pulling his face closer, breathing in the smell of her plain shampoo, the slight metallic tinge of blood, and the heady musk of her body. 

Jaime moved back a little so that he could look at her again.  The blue of her eyes was lost in blown pupils and her lips were parted so that she could take in air in gasps.  Her gaze wandered over his features, memorizing his face, while her hands slipped from his sides to writhe up to his neck and behind his head, fingers tugging at his hair as she yanked him down to her again.  Their lips fought against each other as they tried to consume themselves in the feel of their bodies.  Brienne was the first to manage to slip her tongue into Jaime’s hungry mouth, but as he sucked on it and let his own dart out, he was rewarded with the first, sweetest sigh.

“Jaime,” Brienne moaned as he tore his face away so that he could nip her ear and her neck, trying to taste all of her and remind her that he was here, that he wanted so much to be here.

“It’s okay, “ he soothed.  “You _did_ save me, Brienne.  I’m glad that it was you.  I’m glad that you were the one to decide if I was worth it all.  But you may regret it because you’ll have a hell of a hard time getting rid of me now.”

“You _will_ stay with me,” Brienne agreed, scooting down to settle into him again.  “Promise.”

“I promise, Brienne.  I’m still alive.” Jaime held her as her breathing evened out and she fell asleep, tucked safely into his arms.  He laid his head on her disheveled, course hair, calmed by the slow rhythm of her breaths and her scent surrounding him.  He planned on falling asleep like this every night for the rest of their days and at the thought, he could not stop the smile from splitting his face.  “I’m still alive.”         

**Author's Note:**

> Son, she said, have I got a little story for you  
> What you thought was your daddy was nothin' but a...  
> While you were sittin' home alone at age thirteen  
> Your real daddy was dyin', sorry you didn't see him, but I'm glad we talked...
> 
> Oh I, oh, I'm still alive  
> Hey, I, I, oh, I'm still alive  
> Hey I, oh, I'm still alive  
> Hey...oh...
> 
> Oh, she walks slowly, across a young man's room  
> She said I'm ready...for you  
> I can't remember anything to this very day  
> 'Cept the look, the look...  
> Oh, you know where, now I can't see, I just stare...
> 
> I, I'm still alive  
> Hey I, but, I'm still alive  
> Hey I, boy, I'm still alive  
> Hey I, I, I, I'm still alive, yeah  
> Ooh yeah...yeah yeah yeah...oh...oh...
> 
> Is something wrong, she said  
> Well of course there is  
> You're still alive, she said  
> Oh, and do I deserve to be  
> Is that the question  
> And if so...if so...who answers...who answers...
> 
> I, oh, I'm still alive  
> Hey I, oh, I'm still alive  
> Hey I, but, I'm still alive  
> Yeah I, ooh, I'm still alive  
> Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah


End file.
